Page 79 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
Baines settled as if to keep an eye on things.
Gray nodded at him and was about to turn away when three more breathless lads rushed in. Seeing the queue, they jostled each other to join it.
Mary started frowning as if she was having trouble reading some of the scrawled orders.
With nothing better to do, Gray rounded the counter and offered his services, which were gratefully accepted.
He settled beside Mary, intimidating any presumptuous delivery boys and helping to decipher the rushed orders.
Seeing that Gray had matters at the counter in hand, Horner went to help Matthews load up the delivery lads. As the copies stacked on the counter dwindled, they were replaced by others from elsewhere in the workshop.
At a quarter to twelve, Izzy emerged from her office and walked briskly to the end of the counter. “Lipson?”
The manager straightened from where he’d been poking at the side of the press. “Here, ma’am.”
Izzy beamed. “We’ve already sent out more than four and a half thousand, and the demand for extra copies isn’t slackening off. We’ll need to run the press again.”
A cheer went up from all the staff.
Lipson beamed back. “Right away, ma’am. Gerry, get the boiler stoked. Tom, Digby, get paper ready to roll. Maguire, Matthews, let’s get the formes into place.”
The summoned staff left what they’d been doing and hurried to their tasks, while Donaldson leapt to set up his camera to take shots of the press being readied for action.
That left Mary behind the counter and Gray and Izzy loading up the delivery boys. After a few moments of hanging back, when still more boys came rushing in and the queue grew longer and wound out of the door, both Baines and Littlejohn also pitched in, counting copies and dumping them into the lads’ waiting arms.
Then the press cranked into action, and Gray got a taste of what employment in a printing works was really like. Steam hissed, and iron cogs and gears clattered and clanked. The noise was horrendous; they had to yell to make themselves heard.
But the buoyant spirits only rose higher as more and more lads returned to get still more copies ofThe Crier’s special edition, leaving everyone smiling in triumphant delight.
This is going to work.
Increasingly, Gray felt sure of that.
Izzy glanced at the clock, the hands of which showed the time to be after twelve. “We won’t be able to stop for a lunch break—not today.”
Gray counted the queue; possibly because the delivery lads were taking lunch breaks, it had dwindled to four. He glanced at Baines and Littlejohn. “Littlejohn, if you can relieve me here, I’ll go to the pub around the corner and pick up some food and drink.” He tipped his head toward the workshop. “Our crew needs sustenance.”
Baines grunted. “I’ll come and help carry things back.”
With no time to waste—the temporary hiatus was unlikely to last—Gray gave up his position to Littlejohn and, with Baines, left and strode quickly down the street.
In the local pub, the publican and his wife were happy—indeed, honored—to be asked to supply food forThe Crier’s staff. While the pair bustled about packing pies, sandwiches, pasties, and bottles of cider, Gray and Baines lounged against the bar and idly surveyed the other patrons, intrigued to see that many were poring over copies ofThe Crier.
At one of the nearer tables, three workmen were each reading their own copy. They were studying the photographs, and every now and then, one would squint, point at the paper, and make some comment, to which the other two would either grunt or reply.
Baines mused, “Not the sort of readershipThe Crierwould normally command.”
“No, indeed,” Gray murmured. “But it’s an excellent sign.”
The instant the victuals were ready, he paid, and Baines helped him cart the packages back to the workshop.
The line of delivery lads had grown again. Gray and Baines hurriedly set their burdens on the table near the darkroom and returned to the counter to assist as before.
When Lipson next paused the press to change out a forme, those working about the machine fell on the food with ravenous intent. Shortly after, the tide of delivery lads slowed enough for Izzy and Gray to man the counter alone, allowing Mary, Littlejohn, Baines, and Donaldson—who had put aside his camera to help Mary—to appease their appetites.
Once the press cranked into gear again and the others, licking crumbs from their fingers and wiping their lips, returned, Gray and Izzy retreated to stand about the table and eat selections from the still-considerable remains.
Izzy took a neat bite of an egg sandwich and held the rest up. “Thank you for this.” She surveyed the activity about the counter and also about the press. “I might have hoped, but I had no idea the interest would be this great.”
